Red
by Little Obsessions
Summary: When Mr Addams sees red... None of this belongs to me, all of it to Charles Addams and Paramount. Written for Fanfic 100 on LJ


It is the first thing he thinks about, when he sees her. Red, he read somewhere when he was little, is the representative colour of danger as well as love. It is the perfect embodiment of all she is.

In the corners of his mind he is sometimes haunted with the intolerable lust that mere memories create in him. The way her red nails dig into his burning flesh, the way they contrast with the bleak handle of a riding crop. The times that he has woken the morning after and in a fleeting glance past the massive mirror in their room, he sees the dried blood on his back. Wounds crossing old scars that are hours, weeks, months and years old. He will turn to her, lying supine on the bed and be graced with one of her wicked smiles. It is possibly the most rewarding thing in the world to watch her watch him. Her red nails rake across his skin, leaving crescent-shaped punctures. When they are at social events, required to act with a modicum of decorum, she will dig her nails into the firm muscles on his chest. Her sharp, dangerous, beautiful nails a contrast against his silk shirt. Red against white.

Her mouth is the colour of roses or blood, it matters not. It is the way they curl into a smile, or how his blood looks dripping from them, that is truly red. She likes the taste of blood, the sharp pain of a bite that draws the syrupy liquid, the crashing pleasure that follows. Her pale skin tarnished with the metallic tasting liquid as she lies on the sheets he has paid for but she owns.

She owns everything.

In their room, there are red wax candles on the side of the bed. His abdomen still bears the hallmarks of her brands, the wax leaving its burn. The hilt of her knife is red, and sometimes the sight of his blood dripping from it, or indeed her own, is enough to make him lose control.

Those are the times when he is lost in the red; the nails, the lips, the blood. It is almost obsessive…

"Darling?" She mutters, standing in front of him. He snaps from his reverie, only for his eyes to wander to her lips. Tempting enough as it stands without their being in a delicious pout.

"Dinner is ready," she turns from him, "It's just you and I tonight.".

This is one of the rare times Morticia Addams is an innocent victim of red coloured lust, she is totally unawares of his intentions. He can barely move, he is in excruciating pain created by lust.

"Gomez?" She turns back to him and frowns.

"I'm not hungry," he manages, thinking he could devour her lips and never need to eat again. He stands up swiftly and taking her hands in his own, forces her against the back of one of the chairs, so their bodies are pressed violently together. Her eyes widen and he realises he is perhaps so feral he has startled her. She cowers under him but nonetheless digs her fantastic nails into his wrists.

He moans painfully and she grinds herself against him, "What do you want?"

He stares at her mouth unable to form a cogent sentence in reply. She notices his eyes and reaches forward, pulling down the pristine cravat around his neck. He feels it is just as rewarding for her as her teeth sink into his neck and she moves to his mouth so the blood is still hot and dripping from her chin, onto her décolletage. He smiles wickedly as he bends to lick it away and she inhales sharply. He can see her reprimand herself mentally for such a reaction as he grips her hips and continuous to kiss her. He cannot help himself and bites down roughly, puncturing the red lips with a massive lack of control. She cries into his mouth.

Her nails dig into his thighs, move up to wrestle his shirt from his body. The blood from his neck is still trickling onto his shirt, the bare expanse of skin at her chest is coloured red with the blood of them both, his hands have smeared it across the pearly, translucent canvas. Her lips are raw against his own, the metallic taste of blood. He manages to pull her onto the couch, without losing the contact and he leaves blood on the tips of her stockings, pulling against her suspenders. She has said nothing, barely opened her mouth apart from to scream into his own. But as he finally has his way she pulls away from him, her mouth reminding him momentarily of the vampires he fantasised of when he was little.

"I love you," she whispered from her red coloured mouth, her red nails holding his face so his eyes are boring into hers.

In his ecstasy and hers, he realises that red might be danger but that it is most certainly love.

Hope you enjoyed it.

X


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